


Fic tables of 30 prompt words: Old Kingdom fic (Ellimere/Tindall) (PG)

by koalathebear



Category: Old Kingdom - Garth Nix
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 14:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalathebear/pseuds/koalathebear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I really adore the minor character of Tindall so decided to give him a love interest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fic tables of 30 prompt words: Old Kingdom fic (Ellimere/Tindall) (PG)

**Author's Note:**

> I saw that kiaforrest signed up for something called . I didn't join but just for fun, I took one of the prompt tables. It seems to be that you have to use each of the 30 words in the table - although it doesn't seem necessary to use them in order. I think you might be supposed to use them in 30 separate sentences - but I ignored that rule. Words in bold are the 30 prompt words.

She was dripping wet, on hands and knees in the thick mud as the rain sluiced over her shivering body. The creature had disappeared into the darkness of the forest after their confrontation with a howl that she hoped wouldn't **wake** up any other dark beings. There was no way to know if she had managed to inflict any damage on the creature, but at any rate the thing had left her alone for the moment. Their battle had started at **dawn** and she was **cold** and very weary.

She found herself cursing herself for the fact that fate had not seen fit to give her any of her mother's Abhorsen abilities. Rain slid down her face like tears and she brushed it away impatiently, inadvertently smearing mud across her cheek. Before this week, if anyone had told her that one day she would feel that way she would have stared at them in incredulous disdain.

" _Ellie_?" a familiar voice asked in disbelief.

"And my day just could not get any better," she muttered to herself as she looked up, straining to see through the thick sheets of rain. She was very conscious of her wet, **dirty** clothing and her wild, tangled hair. Standing around the muddy ground where she had fallen was a small group of men in khaki uniforms. They had been aiming their rifles at her, but as soon as their fresh-faced young commanding officer had spoken, they lowered their guns.

She looked up at the officer. He had the three pips of a captain on his sleeves and metal epaulette tags that read NPRU - the Northern Perimeter Reconnaissance Unit. The NPRU was better known as the Crossing Point Scouts whose **primary** duty was to guard the Wall between Ancelstierre and the rather mysterious Old Kingdom. She knew that face all too well. Despite the pouring rain, there was a cheerful and inquiring expression in those steadfast blue eyes.

"That would be your royal highness or Princess Ellimere to you, Captain Tindall," Ellimere said crossly extending an imperious hand. "Now get me out of here, Francis," she commanded him. He stepped forward, grinning broadly as he handed his rifle to one of his men and carefully gripped both hands and pulled her out of the muddy bog. She felt a pang as she stared into his boyishly good-looking face. It had been too long.

His smile faded immediately as the rain washed away the mud and he saw that her skin was covered in bruises of livid **purple** , cuts and burn marks.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded, his hands quickly moving over to her to confirm that she was not seriously hurt.

"I'm fine, Francis," she reassured him, reaching up to touch the Charter mark on his forehead with the index finger of her left hand as Tindall's fingertip touched her brow at the same time. Golden **fire** burst from the marks and both felt themselves drawn into the **warmth** and reassurance of the Charter.

He frowned and ignoring her violent protests, lifted her up easily into his arms and began walking with her through the rain.

"Captain, I can carry her for you," a young private said anxiously, looking a little appalled at the fact that Tindall's uniform was getting splattered in mud.

"I can manage. Feather. Weighs no more than a heifer," Tindall told Private Hawthorne and bit back a grin as Ellimere elbowed him in the ribs sharply. "Steady on, do you want me to drop you, Ellie?"

"Stop calling me that," she said automatically, tiredness making her slump bonelessly into his arms. The rain didn't matter anymore.

"Just like old times again - although it wasn't quite so rainy last time I carried you. You might have told me you were coming to visit. We heard a disturbance in the clearing and came to investigate. It wasn't the Dead ... but we could **feel** it was some kind of creature of the Dead," Francis said with a frown.

"I don't know what it was either. I'm sure Lirael or mother would have known what it was at a glance. All I can tell you is that it was angry and hungry." She closed her eyes, once again envying those who could have complete **faith** in their own ablities. "Your ankle's **mended**. Nicholas mentioned how he broke it last time he was here."

There was a faint rumble of laughter. "Trouble follows Nicholas Sayre wherever that lad goes. How is he these days?"

"Firmly ensconced at Belisaere. My family adore him - and the way that he and Lirael fawn over one another is positively sickening." A smile softened her words and Francis nodded.

"I always suspected that there was something between the two of them."

"I have no doubt that they'll be married in the next year."

They had arrived at the Perimeter and Ellimere nodded politely at the scouts who stood to attention and saluted politely despite the torrential rain. Tindall's boots squelched through the thick mud.

"Your room, Francis? What of my reputation?" Ellimere mocked as he carried her into the somewhat dark and cramped room that served as his quarters. Soft **music** played from the battered radio that sat in the corner of the room.

"It can only be enhanced," he retorted, laying her down on the bed. "Besides, I distinctly recall a **late** night visitor creeping into my bedroom one dark **midnight** ," he said coolly. She watched as he leaned over to light a small battered lamp that flickered to life, casting a small dim glow through the room. **Lightning** flashed through the sky followed by a heavy clap of violent thunder.

"Now let's see what we have here," he said using a towel to wipe away the excess mud. His hair was plastered to his head, his skin drenched. She reached up her hand impulsively to run it along his jaw. His flesh was cool to the touch. He didn't move, his dark blue eyes resting on her expressionlessly.

 _Ticklish? If I do this will you laugh?_

His eyes turned as chill as **winter** in the shadowy north and he calmly reached up and removed her hand, placing it down firmly on the bed. Ellimere's expression gave nothing away.

Tindall made a sound of horror as he finally saw the extremely ugly wounds on her arms and legs.

"It's worse than it looks," she said calmly.

"I should see the other fellow?"

"Something like that," she muttered, laying back against the bed. "Sorry for bleeding on your bed."

"It's only fair, maybe now you'll finally forgive me for bleeding over your favourite ballgown that **night** ," he commented mildly.

They could hear the rain falling heavily outside. Lightning flashed again in the silence and they stared at one another for a long moment.

Ellimere waited as Tindall began gathering the Charter Marks needed for a healing spell. Since the defeat of Orannis, Tindall had studied the casting of Charter Spells with the Old Kingdom's most proficient Charter Mages. Tindall had spent much time with her father, her mother, her brother, Lirael and various members of the Clayr. All had taught Tindall and his men powerful and ancient Charter spells. Spells of war, direction, knowledge and healing. Of all of the Scouts, Tindall had already been the most powerful of Charter Mages. After prolonged interaction with the members of the Royal Family, the Abhorsen and the Clayr, his powers and abilities had only increased.

"Not bad, and here I was thinking that you were going to dose me with primitive **medicine** ," Ellimere jibed. "I see that you did more than flirt during your time among the Clayr," she said provocatively. The tall, blonde, tanned women of the Glaciers had been most appreciative when Tindall and some of his men had visited the Glacier in order to access the Library of the Clayr. "Will we be seeing any babies born with blue eyes and dark hair?"

"Stop talking for a moment," Tindall said between gritted teeth as he concentrated on surrounding a particularly deep cut with Charter Magic.

"Military men - _so_ completely devoid of courtly airs and graces," Ellimere complained, closing her eyes. Her face was very pale and stark against her **black** hair. Her thick lashes resting on her cheeks, flickered slightly. Her full mouth pale and tight. It was clear that she was in great pain and Tindall knew that Ellimere was making light of her injuries.

"I should send for your family."

"No." Her eyes snapped open. Dark and implacable. "You must not call them."

"They must be out of their mind with worry."

"They're fine. They think I'm paying a visit to old school friends in Ancelstierre - which I am in a manner of speaking," she said wryly.

"Ellie. What the hell are you up to now?" Tindall demanded even as he watched a burn mark flicker and then disappear from her pale skin. Healing was a slow and painstaking process. He couldn't resist the urge to allow his fingers to rest on her bare skin as he healed her. Her mouth curved slightly and she reached up her hand to touch his cheek. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand.

"Still seeing that pretty little debutante from Corvere?" she asked him mockingly. "Was the **_reward_** for saving her life enjoyable?"

"I might ask about you and that overbred princeling from the North," he countered as he carefully passed his hand over a series of deep cuts on her ankle.

"The Clayr have Seen something," she told him softly.

Francis' heart sank. "Is it just me, or do they **never** See anything good?"

"Well to be fair, they do. It's just that they usually only tell us the bad news," Ellimere said with a rueful smile.

Some of Ellimere's wounds were too severe to be healed immediately and Francis carefully wrapped bandages around her wrists and ankles, surrounding them with healing Charter Marks before standing and walking over to pick up a towel and a spare shirt.

"Here, you can dry yourself off and put this on while your clothes are drying. Will you be able to manage?" he asked her.

"Yes," she told him coolly as he grabbed a towel and dry clothes for himself and went to stand behind the open wardrobe **door** to change.

"Shy?" Ellimere's voice questioned mockingly. "Or do you think that you're sparing my blushes?" She paused momentarily. "It's not like you haven't seen it all before ..."

"Shut up, Ellie," Francis muttered as he pulled his uniform off, towelled himself dry and quickly pulled on a pair of dry trousers. He was reaching for his shirt when he heard a sound of pain from Ellimere and spun around sharply. He saw that she was struggling to pull his t-shirt over her head.

He walked over to crouch beside the bed, politely averting his eyes from her bare skin as he drew the t-shirt down over her head, careful to avoid her injuries.

"Thank you," she bit out reluctantly, angry at being so helpless as her hands smoothed over the **cotton** fabric of the shirt.

Tindall shook his head and reached for the towel, ignoring her protests as he towelled down her thick, black hair, drying it thoroughly.

Ellimere's eye was caught by a flash of colour between the leaves of the book that sat on Tindall's bedside drawer. She reached over and pulled it out. The dazzling bright **rainbow** colours of the silk ribbon blazed in the grim **grey** of the room.

"I was wondering where this went," she said, her eyes not moving from his. "Not really your colour is it," she drawled.

Tindall swallowed hard and reached down to take the ribbon away from her with hands that were not quite steady. He placed the ribbon carefully back **inside** the book. "Why did you take it? Why did you keep it?" she whispered, the mockery gone and her dark eyes wide and vulnerable.

He didn't answer, instead handing her a comb and watching as she pulled it impatiently through her hair, pulling at the snags roughly.

Francis made a sound of exasperation, reached out and took the comb from her. With a firm but gentle hand began to run it through her tangled hair in practised and familiar strokes.

"Now tell me what's going," he told her.

"The usual. The Clayr in their well-meaning but vague fashion have Seen Great Evil reawakening."

Francis made a sympathetic sound. He coaxed the knots and snarls from Ellimere's blue black hair, his fingers lingering despite himself in the silky softness.

"You haven't lost your touch, Francis," she murmured, closing her eyes and made a mildly sensual purring sound of satisfaction, head tilted back to allow him to continue the long, soothing strokes. "I puzzled through their riddles for some time - ancient evils, the house of those that walk with the dead, breaking of powerful bonds, walk beyond the wall to fetch the tools ... I can only conclude that what they're trying to tell me is that Kerrigor's going to reawaken and I **need** to make it over to Ancelstierre to retrieve the only weapons that are able to kill him."

Tindall stopped abruptly in his combing and stared at her.

"Why _you_?" he demanded and Ellimere gave a bitter laugh.

"Fair question given that I'm the most useless of the family," she said with an overly bright smile. "Let's just say that Kerrigor's nothing if not predictable. His intention is to use Royal Family Blood to break the Great Charter Stones. The Clayr were able to tell me that much. They were also very emphatic that I should be the only one to know about it."

 _"What?"_

Ellimere shrugged. "Think about it, Francis. It makes sense. I am after all, the most dispensable. Mother is the Abhorsen. Calling her vital to the Old Kingdom is an understatement. Lirael is Abhorsen In Waiting. Sameth and father have the gift of the Wallmakers - they have the unenviable task of repairing the broken Charter Stones and creating new ones. Do you see me having any particularly significant place or value in the scheme of things?"

" **One day** you will be Queen," Francis told her slowly, unable to reconcile the arrogant, laughing girl he had known before with the young woman sitting before him now.

Ellimere shook her head. "My purpose in life was to be a decorative figurehead?" she asked him wryly. She reached back and braided her thick hair out of the way. She looked very pale and young as she sat on his bed wearing his khaki shirt. She had also never looked so beautiful and Francis' throat tightened painfully.

He gave up the pretence, put the comb down, rested his brow against hers as his hands came up to stroke her face, his fingers lingering on her smooth skin.

"I would not be human if I did not admit that I have missed you," he whispered, his breath ragged, his voice shaking uncontrollably.

"And I, you," she said softly. "My stubborn, _infuriating_ Captain Tindall," she told him, her hands smoothing over the bare skin of his chest slowly. Her fingers slid into his closely-cropped hair.

"Do you remember when I got myself stuck in that tree?" she demanded of him and he gave a reluctant laugh, nodding and pulling her closer against him.

"Let me help you, Ellie," he said urgently. Her heavy hair was already falling from its thick braid. The pallor of her face against the blackness of her hair and her large dark eyes gave her an almost unearthly appearance. She was a far cry away from the proud, flirtatious girl who had taunted him as they had **run** through the forest in sunlight, her mouth curved with tantalising allure.

Ellimere's voice was bleak and as **cold as ice**.

"The Vision was unspecific. The prospects of success in my confrontation against Kerrigor are uncertain. Most signs seem to indicate quite unambiguously that I am going to die."


End file.
